


OAKDOWN

by TimeWarSnapShot



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Faction Paradox - Various Authors
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeWarSnapShot/pseuds/TimeWarSnapShot
Summary: Newblood comes to the House of Oakdown.





	OAKDOWN

**_The House_** is large, but not impossibly so, impossible being a scale reserved for other aspects of this world. Indeed, by the standards of the many **_Houses_** that litter it, this one is rather meagre. It sits between two cliffs, jutting and squeezing its way through the narrow space, its tallest spire emerging like a spear to pierce the sky. It is important to remember, however, that while small by the standards of this world the **_House_** can still be considered in _grandiose_ terms, its exterior casting a shadow the fills the canyon floor, its unseen interior bordering on the labyrinthine. It’s pleasant enough to look at in its own way, but, if you come from one of _those_ cultures you may be reminded of fairy stories, of cottages that look pleasant enough at a distance but upon closer inspection don’t seem quite as inviting. The sort of places where witches live.

Of course, no-one from _those_ cultures would ever get close enough to make the comparison. You see, **_The House_** is _unique_. Not in the sense that all **_Houses_** on this world are unique, but in a way that denotes a level of importance. As with most _House_ s on this world, there are forty-five inhabitants; this number does not include the custodial staff that live on the surrounding land and ensure the smooth running of the **_House_** , nor does it include the servitor drudges and sentinels that are effectively part of the _**House**_. The forty-five inhabitants are all remarkably similar, there are a few outliers of course. An inevitability, even with near total control over bio-data and more base notions such as simple genetics. But for the most part, the forty-five follow the same basic pattern; Sullen eyes, sallow skin, hair that in one of _thos_ e cultures would ensure a childhood of bullying. Unless you are from this world you’d have trouble telling them apart.

They are the reason the **_House_** is _unique_ ; indeed, they are the reason there is even life in the House. You see, it had long sat empty, its original inhabitants killed-off in one of the infrequent - though frequently bloody- purges that sweep this world. The current inhabitants are **_Newblood_** , seeded into the ** _House_** with a singular vision in mind. The Progenitor; whose bio-data has made the entire thing possible, agreed to it because he found the idea faintly amusing. Publicly he has expressed little interest in the ** _House_** , however, those involved with the project are aware he maintains a watchful eye on its childrene. To understand the **_House’s_** purpose then is to understand its residents. They are of course, numbered; one through forty-five. A lifetime could be spent examining each one in detail, noting the differences and commonalities shared between them, but most are not afforded that sort of lifetime. However, the basic idea behind the House can still be arrived at by examining a few of its residents. They are, after-all, remarkably similar.

 _Six_ , befitting the name, defines themselves by resistance. They rally against the rules of the **_House_** , flaunt their disinterest in lessons and training, and openly rebel against demands that the childrene stay within its grounds. They have been poisoning the custodian assigned to monitor them, they aren’t sure why. The old woman is aware she is slowly being murdered. A pivotal moment for _Six_ saw them ascend the cliff-face, following a half-buried trail over the surrounding mountain. They expected to find something, following a half-remembered, inherited memory, but all Six found was a wound in the side of the world, a gouge deep in the mountain. The message was clear; _no friends here._

The ultimate tragedy of _Six’s_ life is simple; All their rebellious acts, their quiet violence and refusal to engage with the larger culture of the ** _House_** is exactly what is expected of them, of all of them. The lifestyle forced on the childrene is designed to be aggravating, inducing boredom and contempt in equal measure, all but inviting them to challenge it. If someone slipped in, crept up to _Six_ and whispered the truth in their ear; what would they do? Would they follow the rules to the letter, adopt a pleasant, cheerful manner in an effort to find rebellion in obedience? Or would they find themselves trapped, too set in their ways to ever challenge the system? Would it even matter? Those behind the House expect rebellion, any rebellion. Six has the benefit of ignorance, without it they would find themselves a prisoner.

_Thirty-Two_ has the rot. They are not alone in this, half-a-dozen of the childrene are afflicted with it. It is a hold-over from an early point in the Progenitor’s long, long life. It could have been easily removed, the breeding engine ensuring it would never occur in any of them, but that would defeat the purpose. Most have given in, letting the disease overtake them while they wait to be reconstituted into raw bio-data, replaced by younger, healthier alternatives. Poor old _Twenty-Nine_ has gone a step further, deteriorating into a gelatinous mass that has begun to merge with their room in the upper floors. The custodians no longer go there. _Thirty-Two_ meanwhile, embraces the condition.

They like to sit in the dining hall, peeling away their skin to show the bulbous, red-raw matter below. _Thirty-Two_ no longer eats, they don’t see the point. The dining hall simply provides an audience, the others hate them, _Thirty-Two_ knows this, they thrive on it. When the other childrene look at the decaying skin, _Thirty-Two_ peeling the last vestiges of an eyelid to reveal the unblinking, milky-white eye below, they know fear. _Thirty-Two_ is a walking reminder of their own mortality, the horrors to come, the price one pays to live forever. They are death. They refuse the treatments offered to them, salves to ease the pain; _Thirty-Two_ likes to leave trails of thin, coagulated blood around the **_House_**. It acts as a sign that they have walked there, that death has touched the ground. They are promising, _Six’s_ rebelliousness is notable, but all the childrene are rebellious in their own way. But _Thirty-Two_ , _Thirty-Two_ shows they will fight to live against all odds, in embracing the rot they have shown that they understand the importance of life, the importance of survival.

 _Fourteen_ is unique, not in the sense that he is important, but in that he stands out among the other childrene. For one he is not childlike; achieving the awkward gangliness of adolescence, a faint trace of stubble dotting his chin. He has been in the House for some time, and this has given him a better understanding of its purpose. When _Six_ , _Thirty-Two_ and the others were loomed _Fourteen_ was already there. In a previous phase of the programme they displayed what could be considered the right-stuff; the rest were reconstituted into raw bio-data to be used in the next wave, or forcibly regenerated into younger forms to be placed in other **_Houses._** In doing all this, the **_House_** breaks this world’s oldest laws, but this **_House_** is a privileged one so it is hardly unexpected. _Fourteen_ is the sole survivor of his phase, he feels no guilt over this, the others were failures or merely impressive. He showed genuine greatness.

This current batch will be the same, they are more impressive than most of their predecessors he must admit, but that is damning with faint praise. A few will survive to join him among the next wave; the rest pulped or shipped off to trouble someone else. The process will repeat and repeat again until the **_House_** hosts forty-five perfect candidates, _the chosen few_. Then the real training will begin, they will be linked to their Timeships, issued the vaguest of commands and turned loose on the universe. The custodians will be dealt with, the servitors shut down and the House will once again fall silent, its work finally done. _Fourteen_ and his siblings will make the universe theirs, they will become Masters and Mistresses of all that ever was and ever will be. They will win the War, destroy **_the enemy_**. He thinks this is the only way it could go, he can’t imagine anything else happening, but there’s always the potential for something else.

The childe’s name doesn’t matter, nor does the phase it belongs to. You see, all the House’s childrene share the same nightmare, another formative experience passed down from the Progenitor.  In it they awake at night, startled by a sudden overwhelming presence. A woman stands at the bottom of their large, ornate bed watching them. Her face is skeletal, those afflicted with the rot are unable to shake a sense of immediate connection, the others are simply too terrified to move. She moves around the side of the bed, drawing closer, they can recognize her now. She is one of the old Gods, from the days when people still worshipped such things. She leans into the childe’s ear, they will worship her. The childe awakes screaming, but it doesn’t end there, as with all the best nightmares it continues once they wake up. No-one will check on them, it would go against the principle of the House. They lie in the dark, breathing short panicked breaths. They think it’s over, but then they see her, a woman at the bottom of their bed. It’s not the same woman; her face is far from skeletal and she is not God, not yet at least. She doesn’t move to the side of the bed, she is simply there, she doesn’t whisper, she speaks plainly. The childe learns the truth, t _he whole truth_ , they won’t remember any of it come morning.

They won’t do well, quickly being classified as one of the **_House’s_** failures. Eventually, they will be pulped and then _the truth_ will take hold, surging through them even as their very being collapses in on itself. It will spread outwards, through the breeding engine and into the **_House_** itself. The next phase will birth monsters, the project will be ended, all those involved dealt with, the truth tidied away. **_The House_** will be gouged out of the world and destroyed, overseeing all of this, the Progenitor will feel an alien sense of loss. The cuckoos, nestled within other Houses will awake one day, fresh from a shared nightmare, ready to serve a new Master.

_ It’s more likely than you think. _


End file.
